


The Price We Pay

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Series: Random Drabbles/Requests [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Mark of Cain, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:03:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4737155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After "Book of the Damned" before "The Werther Project".</p><p>After Castiel is injured on a hunt, Sam and Dean see his injured wings. They handle it the way they handle everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price We Pay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheImpossibleFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImpossibleFangirl/gifts).



> Sorry this took so long~

The windows and doors were heavily salted, the walls properly warded, and all the weapons were loaded and cocked, placed strategically around the room. Now, there was nothing else they could do but wait and watch, and hope for the best.

Dean rubbed at his arm and clenched his teeth together. The Mark was blood-hungry, calling for revenge, for violence, with the desire to protect his family.

Dean didn't know if Cas needed to breath; but seeing his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm made him feel better anyway. He pulled the chair from the window table towards the bed and sat down on it, leaning forward. He couldn't stop rubbing the Mark, though. It itched and it burned and if Dean didn't kill something soon, he would actually go insane.

Starting with the demons that had shanked Cas seemed like a good idea. The wound was doing okay, actually. It had been bad, probably struck a kidney and Cas had bleed all over the backseat and floorboards of the car; but Dean could see the soft blue glow and that meant it was healing. Cas would be okay. He'd heal up and he'd be okay and it'd be business as usual, just like anytime one of them had a near death experience. (Or an actual death experience, come to think of it…)

But every time Dean closed his eyes, he saw it. He saw Cas standing erect, with glowing eyes, and lightening flashing out of nowhere. Dean saw the two large shadows fold out behind Cas and remembered another instance in a storm years ago when he first saw them.

They were nothing like Dean remembered them. They were ruined, skeletal and decayed. Rotted. Only the thinnest of feathers still hung onto the bone, and even then, Dean knew he saw at least two fall out to the floor before the demons had smoked out like the cowards they were.

The wings that had once been fierce, all powerful, and…angelic, were ruined and rotted and it was all Dean's fault.

"Dean," Sam said. Dean looked up at saw that his brother was on the other side of the bed, giving him a _look._ "You should go to bed. He'll be okay; he's healing."

Dean swallowed and clawed into the Mark. "Why didn't he tell us?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know. I mean…Cas has never really been concerned about himself."

 _Yeah,_ Dean thought bitterly. _Too busy worrying about me to look after himself for two goodamned seconds._

"Stupid son of a bitch," Dean mumbled. "We should've been helping him, Sam. Maybe if he got grace back earlier…"

Sam hesitated to answer. He licked his lips. "I don't think we could've gotten it back earlier. Getting Metatron out to ask him…"

Dean snorted and buried his face in his hands. "Yeah, whatever. Metadouche—or Heaven—wouldn't have helped even if they wanted to. I get it. Angels are dicks, Cas is sick, what else is new?"

"He's gonna be okay, Dean. He'll probably be awake by morning."

Logically, Dean knew Sam was right. The wound was bad, but Cas had had much worse in the past. Even now, Dean could see that all of the deep muscle had stitched itself back together and now the layers of the skin were working. That wouldn't take long at all. Years ago, the entire wound would've all been healed within just an hour or two. But ever since Cas had Fallen and got cut off from Heaven, that stuff didn't work like it used to. It lagged and healed in stages. Like, the wound would be finished soon, but then the actual grace had to work on repairing itself and that would take the rest of the night, probably.

"Go to bed," Sam said again.

"I'll be fine," Dean said. "Take first shift. You can sleep. I'll watch him."

"We can get a trundle bed sent up. We can both sleep. There's no reason to sleep in shifts. He's okay, Dean. He'll be fine."

"And mess up the salt lines?"

Sam exhaled and rubbed his face with his hands. "Oh my god," he said. "You're impossible. Fine. Have fun watching Mister Comatose."

Sam turned to the opposite bed and threw himself down, burying his face in the pillow before he reached over and turned the light off.

The cars on the adjacent highway flew by, casting lights into the room and across Dean's face.

There was a point where Dean wasn't sure how deeply asleep Cas actually was. His eyes were still closed, and he wouldn't respond to questions, but his fingers curled up in the sheets at his sides, and if Dean leaned in close enough, he could catch bits of murmuring. Dean recognized some Bible quotes, but most of what Cas was saying seemed to be coming from memories—and not any good ones.

"No, Naomi," Cas said, knuckles whitening into the sheets, "I _won't._ You can't _make_ me."

"Shh," Dean mumbled, but he couldn't make himself reach out to comfort. The Mark still burned, and he had his own voices in his head, screaming at him, taunting.

_And then you'll kill the angel, Castiel._

Dean dug his nails into the meat of his arm. The Mark was hungry, he'd feed it; something had to be better than nothing, right? The Mark shouldn't care what it came from, as long as it got fed, it'd be happy, right?

But every few minutes, Dean would see it again, and his blood pressure would rise and the Mark would just ask for more, and more, and more.

The murmuring stopped suddenly and the room was eerily quiet, even with Sam snoring softly across the way.

Cas's eyes were open, and they were staring at him.

"Hey," Dean said, swallowing. "How're you feeling?"

Cas kept staring at him, dissecting him like he always seemed to do. "Fine," he said eventually. "How are you, Dean?"

"Just peachy."

"You're bleeding."

Dean looked down at his arm, where his nails were still embedded. It wasn't deep and he just wiped it on his jeans. Dean sighed and then he did lean forward, his face just inches away from Cas's.

"How come you didn't tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you were hurt. Your wings…we saw them when you got shanked."

"Oh. You saw. You…you weren't supposed to see."

"Well, I did," and Dean had to struggle to keep his voice low, to not scream and break things like he so desperately wanted to do. "How come you didn't tell?"

Cas turned his head to stare at the ceiling. "It was pointless to tell. There is nothing that can be done to fix them; their condition is permanent. Telling would have only created more tension. Besides. I have other priorities."

"Damn it, Cas!" Dean did scream that time, near full volume and with all the rage he can muster. Sam snorted into his pillow, but turned onto his other side before his breathing resumed its previous pattern.

Dean was seething, jaw clenched, blood pounding. Cas wasn't startled by his anger and Dean had to focus to breath in deeply and lower his voice.

"When are you going to start taking care of yourself?"

Cas looked down at his arm and Dean self-consciously covered the Mark with his hand.

"When I've finished taking care of you," Cas says.

"I'm not your responsibility."

"But you are. You've been my responsibility from the moment I first laid a hand on you in Hell. It's my duty and…desire to protect you. To see you are taken care of." Cas blinked; another care whizzed by on the highway, illuminating his eyes. "I'm sorry I haven't done a very good job of it."

"Free will, remember, Cas? I made my own choices."

"As did I. The state of my wings is no more your responsibility than the Mark is mine. But I will still do what I must to cure you and ensure your safety."

"Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

Cas smiled softly. But it was one of _those_ Castiel smiles. Self-deprecating, mourning, hated. "Because there is still hope for you."

There were so many things wrong with that statement. Cas was an angel, something holy and far off. Dean…Dean was closer to something demonic than anything else these days. There wasn't hope for him.

"Promise me," Dean said, "you'll stop. Stop looking for a cure. I don't want the cure. It isn't worth it, Cas. The price will be too high, you know it will. Promise me you'll stop."

"I can't. I won't. I won't ever give up on you, Dean."

And that was the problem, wasn't it?


End file.
